


(pretty)

by lynna21



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 02:13:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11117739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynna21/pseuds/lynna21
Summary: One day, everything is normal.  Daryl is going about his usual business.  Hunting whatever he can get a bolt through, checking his snares, going on runs, taking whatever watch needs filling, dealing with the walker buildup on the fences...  Jesus.  It’s the goddamn apocalypse, and he has a 100 hour a week job.  How the fuck does that happen?





	(pretty)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! This is my first attempt writing TWD fic, and the first time I've written *anything* in quite a while. Huge thanks to Skarlatha, who went above and beyond what I asked for when I sent that first email. You're awesome!
> 
> Hope you all enjoy!

(pretty)

Close quarters, man.  That has got to be what did it.

One day, everything is normal.  Daryl is going about his usual business.  Hunting whatever he can get a bolt through, checking his snares, going on runs, taking whatever watch needs filling, dealing with the walker buildup on the fences...  Jesus.  It’s the goddamn apocalypse, and he has a 100 hour a week job.  How the fuck does that happen?

Now that he thinks about it, he decides to blame it on Rick.

Somehow the damn sheriff has managed to do what no one else has in the whole of Daryl's life.

God knows Merle had tried getting him interested.  He'd thrown whoever he could at Daryl.  Once he'd realized the women he picked weren't doing anything, he'd even started in with guys.  “I don't give a flyin' fuck what you do with your dick, baby brother, just do somethin'!”

But, nope.  Not so much as a twitch.

'Til the quarry.

His damn traitorous dick had perked right up the second Rick Grimes opened his (pretty) mouth.

Dammit.

Daryl did not need this.  

His cock did _not_ twitch every time he looked Rick's way.  Every time Rick brushed a hand across Daryl's shoulder, or his stomach, or his hand.  Every time Rick's bright blue eyes focused on him, and that goddamn smile stretched across his (pretty) face.

At this point, denial wasn't working that well anymore.  

Hell, he was walking around hard nearly all the time nowadays.  Only time he got some relief was when he was outside the prison hunting.  It wasn't that hard to find a relatively safe spot to release some tension.  There was an old moonshiner's cabin about a quarter mile from the prison he'd made use of several times now.  Best part about it was he could see the guard tower sticking out above the trees.  Daryl had never had the best imagination, but when faced with the right motivation he got much better real quick.

It was tougher while they were on the road.  Not much privacy to be had.  Hell, he'd even climbed up a tree once.  That one was...  interesting.  He'd nearly come all over a curious squirrel.  He remembers sitting there, his hand still on his cock, mouth wide open, staring at the rather offended looking animal sniffing delicately at the new decoration Daryl had added to its home.  He told himself later that it wasn't weird that he'd shot said squirrel with his crossbow, and brought it back to camp for the group.  Who cares if he made sure that particular bit of meat made it into Rick's portion, and he'd watched with darkened eyes, and a rapidly pounding heart the way the man wolfed it down.  Dead squirrels tell no tales, he thought, lips twitching up just a fraction.  

Yeah. He went back to his tree soon after that.

But now.

Now.

Goddamn Rick Grimes had no fucking right to look the way he looked right now.  A light sheen of sweat glistening on his (pretty) face and arms, hacking away clumsily at the ground of his garden.

Daryl's hands tighten inadvertently on the metal railing of the guard tower, his cock swelling and pressing painfully against the zip of his khakis.

This is why he tried to be out hunting or on a run during daylight hours.  If he was in the guard tower, and Rick was in his garden, he was inevitably staring at the other man.  Kinda rendered his watch pointless, didn't it?

Well, fuck this.

Daryl somehow catches Glenn's eye and motions for the other man to come to the tower.

It doesn’t take much convincing, once Daryl mentions seeing a deer on the fringes of the prison grounds, to get him to take over Daryl's watch.

Clapping Glenn on the shoulder, Daryl makes his way to the side exit.  Yeah, that means he has to go by Rick's garden.  What of it?

Making sure his bangs mostly obscure his eyes, he makes his way past Rick, his eyes lingering on the curve of the man's (pretty) ass.  Damn crime, that ass.  He surreptitiously adjusts his cock, only squeezing himself once, taking one last long look before he has to turn his eyes forward.

“Daryl?”

His hand freezes on his crotch, and his eyes dart over to Rick.

Shit.

Jerking his hand off his dick, which, incidentally, has twitched and gotten impossibly harder at the sound of Rick's (pretty) voice, Daryl looks over toward the other man.  Not quite meeting his eyes, god only knows how his dick would react to that, Daryl focuses on the outermost corner of Rick's left  eyebrow, and grunts.

“Going to check the snares?”

He nods.  And he is completely ignoring the steady throb in his dick.

He _is_.

“I could use a break.  Mind if I tag along?”

Oh shit.

How the fuck is he gonna get out of this?  Rick can not come along.  He can't.  It is just not gonna happen.

“Sure.”

What the fuck.

FUCK.

Rick grins.  “Thanks.”

Daryl nods again, ignoring the way his pants are starting to get a bit sticky.

The world is overrun with dead people, he's killed several of the not dead ones, and there were,  generally, several near-death experiences every day.  Surely he can handle checking some fucking snares with Rick.

 

…

 

Fuck.

He can _not_ handle this.

It’s been too long since he jerked off.  Though, at this point, it seems like he’s doing it so much his hand may as well be attached permanently to his fucking dick, and Rick's goddamn (pretty) ass, and just fucking everything else about the damn man is gonna drive him insane.

Daryl is quite sure his cock has never been this hard.  

Ever.

Rick smiling at him, and looking at him with affection shining out of his (pretty) eyes as they walk the snare line, is making Daryl's cock drip down his fucking thigh.

Screw this.  He has to say something.  

But, shit, he can't just leave Rick out here and go off to his shack, or some convenient tree, can he?

He's gotta try.

“Rick-”

What the fuck is happening.

Oh fuck, Rick is pressing him back against a tree.

Rick's thigh is pressing right into his cock.

Rick's mouth is against his ear, whispering filthy, and downright inspiring things.

This just can't be happening.

Before he can really process anything, he pushes Rick away.  Stares at him with wide, startled eyes.

Nope.

He can't do this.

“Daryl!”

So much for not being able to leave Rick behind in the forest alone.

 

…

 

You'd think that someone who has had several lessons in tracking would be better at it.  But, no, Rick is just sort of wandering around in the woods, halfheartedly brushing his hands across leaves that may or may not have marks on them from someone passing through.

There isn't any sign here, Daryl can see that even from where he sits, about 15 feet up in a big sycamore tree.

What the fuck was he gonna do about this?  Sure can't sit up in the tree and watch Rick flounder around in the woods much longer.  God only knows what kind of trouble the other man would get up to out here without Daryl to watch his back. Just didn't think he'd stay out here this long, looking.  Figured he'd look around for fifteen minutes or so, and, knowing that Daryl wouldn't be found if he didn't want to be, Rick would turn around and go on back to the prison.  But, it's been 2 hours, and 7 walkers now.

Dammit.

Before he really understands what he's doing, Daryl is back on the ground, making his way over to Rick.

“Rick.”

Jesus, Rick jumps and turns around so quickly he makes Daryl jump, too.

“Daryl, I-”

Nooo, no, no, no.

“No, Rick.”

Just turn back around and go back to the prison.  That's what they're gonna do.  That's _all_ they're gonna do.

He can hear Rick following along behind him, the silence not even close to comfortable.  Rick's confusion, anxiety, and hurt are coloring the woods around them, making the shadows darker and thicker, and the wind sharper and colder than it should be in what he thinks is late August, and how the fuck is that even possible?

What the fuck is he gonna do now?  

…

From the way he figures it, since the incident in the woods a few weeks ago, Daryl has barely spoken 5 words to Rick.  He mostly communicated in grunts and nods.  Not that that was abnormal for him, really, but the other people in the prison have noticed, and doesn't that just annoy the shit outta him.  He's gotten several worried glances from Carol, and one aborted attempt at cornering him near the showers that he just barely managed to slip out of.

Hell, even Michonne has been giving him long, thoughtful looks, then flicking her sharp eyes over towards Rick, and giving him the same.

It's gotta come to a head sooner or later, he supposes, and it may as well be his decision when it does.  He'll wait 'til after everyone else has gone to bed.  Rick has watch.  He'll do it tonight.

Tonight.

Like it has a tendency to do when you're anxious, time speeds up.  Seems like only minutes ago Daryl was gutting and cleaning the rabbits he'd gotten for dinner, and now it was full dark, and everyone was quiet in their cells.  There was only a quiet snuffling sound coming from the cell where Beth had Judith.

Not really knowing how he got there, Daryl steps into the watch tower.  He can't look at Rick, but he knows Rick is looking at him.  He can feel the man's (pretty) eyes almost like a caress up and down his flanks.

“You gonna tell me why now?”

I can't, I can't, I can't...

“Just not used to anyone doin' things like that s'all.”

Risking a glance up, he sees Rick cock his head to the side, his eyes curious.

“No one?”

Shit, how did he not notice Rick moving closer?  He's close enough now to reach out and touch, if he had a mind to.

All of the cliched bullshit that he's been fed his whole life runs through Daryl's head in a stream.  He's worthless, just a redneck from the wrong side of town, too stupid and ugly for anyone to care about.  He thinks he still believes most of that, but when he looks up, he sees something different in Rick's eyes.  Something that says he doesn't see what most of the people in Daryl's life have seen when they look at him.  Maybe Rick can show him how to see that, too.

“Daryl.  Can I-”

Screwing up every last bit of his courage, Daryl reaches out, grabs hold of the nape of Rick's neck, and pulls the other man's (pretty) lips down to his.

Rick's startled grunt almost makes Daryl laugh, but then somehow, a tongue has slipped out of Rick's mouth and into his, and most of Daryl's thoughts scatter like a flock of birds into the sky.

There are hands and mouths, and they're grabbing at each other like they're afraid one of them will disappear, and somehow Daryl is being pressed up against the railing of the tower.

Rick's (pretty) mouth trails small kisses down, teeth biting sharply at the tendon on the side of Daryl's neck, then sucking softly.

Daryl can hardly breathe, and he is so hard, and fucking shit, Rick is cupping his cock in his strong, square hand, squeezing, and Daryl is gonna shoot in his pants if he keeps that up.

“You gotta stop that, man.  You gotta.  M'gonna...”  Jesus, he's blushing.  How manly.

There's that grin.  Daryl loves that grin.  The one that doesn't have the shadow of Lori, Shane, or any of the other people they've lost hiding in the corners.  The one that, these days, is rarely seen.

“Want ya to.”  Rick's eyes are intense, burning into Daryl's.  “Wanna feel it.  Taste it.  Want whatever you'll give me.”

Daryl feels his eyes widen, and his blush deepen.

All he can do is watch as Rick reaches for the button on Daryl's khakis.  

“Okay?”  

Is it okay?  His cock has been hard for, basically, a year.  The one person he's ever really fantasized about doing anything to it is now on his knees in front of him, and Daryl can't nod fast enough.

Rick's answering smile is tiny, and it makes Daryl's heart hurt.  

Nimble fingers make short work of the button and zipper, and then Daryl's cock is damn near flying out of the opening.  

Rick makes a small noise of appreciation, and then his (pretty) mouth is opening over the crown of Daryl's cock, tongue flicking out to taste the sticky evidence of Daryl's want before opening wider and fitting as much of Daryl in his mouth as he can.

“Fuck!”

Rick fucking hummed.  Is humming around a dick a thing?  'Cause, damn, if it's not it should be.

“You taste good.”

Daryl doesn't even think anymore, he just needs more of that (pretty) mouth, so he sinks his fingers into Rick's curls and tugs him back towards his twitching cock.

Rick happily goes, bringing his hands up to squeeze gently at Daryl's balls.  His mouth is wet and sloppy, and he's making happy little noises in the back of his throat while his tongue traces patterns on the underside of Daryl's cock.

“Wanna show you something, Daryl.”

Panting and almost strung out on the warmth and the silky feel of that tongue, Daryl just nods.

“Open your mouth.”

Oh.  Daryl knows where this is going.  Back when he first started thinking about Rick, he'd tried.  He must not have done it right, though, because it just felt strange.

“Al'right.”

Something about having Rick's fingers in his mouth makes Daryl pant even harder than he was when Rick's mouth was around his cock.

He tears his mouth away, and just gasps out, “Please!  Rick!”

Rick just smiles, like he knows a secret that Daryl doesn't, and hell, maybe he does.  There's a whole lotta shit Daryl doesn't know.

Pressing his wet fingers behind Daryl's suddenly very tight sac, Rick circles them around the tight hole he finds there.

Rick's breath hitches right along with Daryl's when he presses a finger inside, and Daryl groans aloud.  This was not even remotely similar to the couple of times he'd tried by himself.  There was no awkward angling of arms and legs and fingers to deal with, only jolts of pleasure that ran through his entire body like a shockwave.

“Yeah?”

Daryl just nods emphatically, unknown words dripping out of his mouth like rain, but they don’t matter at all when Rick's fingers are stroking rhythmically against his prostate, and he is not paying any attention at all to the tiny voice that pops up in the back of his head and sounds suspiciously like his father ranting about fags.

“If you liked that...”  Rick trails off, his long finger pushing further into Daryl, and pressing firmly.

Daryl lets out a choked sounding moan as Rick's mouth descends onto his cock again, and the one finger has now become two, and holy shit, that's even better.

Between the fingers and the sloppy wet sucking of his cock, Daryl almost misses Rick unbuttoning his own jeans and bringing out his cock.  Rick's hand, slick with his own saliva, rubs himself frantically.

Daryl can't stop his fingers from tightening in Rick's curls, “Rick!  Gonna!”

Rick only moans, and the fingers in Daryl's ass start moving faster, right along with Rick's hand on his own cock.

The world just stops spinning for a moment.  He and Rick are suspended in time, Daryl's cock pulsing wetly onto Rick's tongue for what feels like an eternity, Rick's cock jerking, and then spurting long lines onto the cement floor of the tower.  Both of them moaning, and shaking.

Disentangling his fingers from Rick's now messy (pretty) curls, Daryl takes a shaky breath.

Rick sits back on his heels, and grins.

When Daryl had imagined this moment, there was always awkwardness.  A lot of it, actually.  He would usually stammer, blush, then run away.  Rick would stand there and look at Daryl's back as he went, hurt making the worn lines already on his face etch just that much deeper.

Nah.  Not this time.  

Daryl pulls his pants up from around his ankles, and reaches a hand out for Rick.  Pulling the other man up, he smiles.  It’s just a small thing, that smile, but Rick seems to know what it means.  

He clasps Daryl's shoulder and brings him in close for another kiss, this one softer, and much sweeter.

Pulling back, Rick grins.  “Same time tomorrow?”

Fucker thinks he's funny.  “Sure.”

Daryl is turning away, headed for the door, when Rick speaks.

“Hey, Daryl?”

Looking back at Rick, he sees the other man leaning against the railing, one leg crossed over the other, softened cock still poking out of the opening of his jeans.

“Yeah?”

Rick grins that grin again, “Never been called pretty before.”

 


End file.
